


Grapes and Grenadine

by Marcella-ella (MarcellaBianca), MarcellaBianca



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst, Bars and Pubs, Bucky is a mixologist, Captain America Reverse Big Bang 2018, Enemies to Friends, Enemies to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers to Friends to Lovers again, Flirty Bucky Barnes, Fluff, M/M, Post-Serum Steve Rogers, Restaurants, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve is a sommelier, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Wine, more tags to come, slight crack, sommelier, that should be a tag if it isn't already, this is a lot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-05
Updated: 2018-06-15
Packaged: 2019-05-18 14:22:01
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 16,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14854424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/Marcella-ella, https://archiveofourown.org/users/MarcellaBianca/pseuds/MarcellaBianca
Summary: Steve Rogers should be having an awesome couple of days. First, he passed his sommelier exam. Then, he got hired to head up the wine cellar at his friend Tony Stark’s newest Downtown Brooklyn eatery, Iron. The head chef is his best friend from college, Sam Wilson, and the pastry chef is his other best friend, Peggy Carter...and his worst enemy and longtime hatecrush, Bucky Barnes, is the chief mixologist.It’s not that Steve hates Bucky. It’s just that Bucky is the worst. In that way where Steve wants to punch him or make out with him. Whichever comes first.Can love conquer all in this battle of wits, wines, and whiskies?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Eeeeee! I've been working on this since January, and I'm so excited to start posting!
> 
> Thank you so much to Mific for the awesome art, and the INCREDIBLE second piece she made! The BISEXUAL LIGHTING, you GUYS. 
> 
> Thank you to Steph and Brenda for listening to me - especially Steph for taking me to Le Boudoir and gently explaining to me how the Brooklyn subway lines work. 
> 
> This is a work that will conclude on June 13th. I can't wait to share the rest of this fic with you. I've always wanted to do an Enemies To Lovers fic, and I think this provides a fun little twist on that trope.

Steve was going to be sick.

Being nervous before a big day was nothing new for him; at his regular job, the stresses of finishing a commission generally left Steve feeling ill (particularly if the client was being a dickface). But today, as he stared at himself in the mirror through a mouthful of toothpaste, he was actually going to barf.

His phone balanced precariously on the edge of his tub. It was lighting up with messages from Sam, Peggy, and Nat, all wishing him good luck. Nat was especially good at reading his mind; her most recent text said  _ don’t throw up  _ followed by four thumbs-up emojis.

“Easier said than done, Tash,” Steve murmured thickly before spitting a gob of toothpaste into the sink.

 

* * *

The University Club of New York was an easy 45 minute trek from Steve’s studio apartment in Prospect Heights. For the first few months of the training program he was content to ride the M to Lexington and walk the half mile or so to class, grabbing a coffee on the way. Now, with Christmas swiftly coming and the tourists descending on the city like a sea of annoying wasps, Steve had to switch to the B so his final stop was only a quick walk to the club. 

The ride on the M wasn’t too bad - he’d grabbed a spare seat, he was riding that shit until the wheels fell off - but the switch to the B was pure madness, especially since Steve switched at 30 Rock. Hundreds of people crowded the trains, gleefully discussing their newest buys at Barneys or the people they saw on the skating rink. Steve hated it, but he’d remembered to charge his headphones last night so the trip passed in relative peace and quiet. 

His heart thudded with every stop bringing him closer to his inevitable doom or triumph. Now, more than ever, he missed his mom.

*

“Steven. Define  _ pigeage.”  _

The University Club had a very strict dress code, one that made Steve feel like a stuck pig sometimes. Even though he wasn’t too bad looking of a human being by his own standards, the hoity-toity attitude of the club made him feel like a bridge troll. The piercing, judgmental gaze of the exam proctor didn’t help matters. He was sweating through his dress blazer. 

Steve swallowed. He had this.

“It refers to when the skins of the fermented grapes rise to the surface of the vats,” he answered, as smoothly as he could. “They have to be ‘punched down’ to avoid creating a film.”

“Can you define the literal meaning of the term, please?”

“Yes, ah, it means ‘punching down the cap.’ The ‘cap’ meaning the film created by the grape skins. It used to be punched down with feet, now the process involves long pitchforks,” Steve replied. His tie felt tight.

“Very good,” the proctor said, and Steve let out a gut-punch of air he didn’t realize he’d been holding.

*

 

It had been a long, grueling two hours. The oral questioning and written exam weren’t too bad. The only thing left was the blind tasting. 

Three glasses were placed in front of Steve. One a red, one a white, one a blush. His job was to pick one and attempt to pinpoint the type and country of origin of that wine.

Steve closed his eyes.  _ Let’s do this. _

He picked the red. He’d always had a soft spot for red wines. They always seemed infinitely more interesting to his palate. One of the guys in his program, Brock, seemed to always favor Chardonnays. Amateur. 

The red had a distinct fruity flavor upfront. Steve could spot notes of cherry as he swirled it on his tongue, remembering the week they’d spent on reds of the Southern Hemisphere and knowing this wine had its origin in one of those places. It was a pinot noir, no doubt about that. But the region was eluding him. He sniffed the glass, careful to take in the bouquet. Another sip confirmed his suspicions, but even saying it out loud was terrifying. 

“It’s a Pinot Noir from the Alexandra vineyards in New Zealand,” he said quietly. “There’s an undertone of dried thyme.”

The silence threatened to cut off his air even more than Steve’s tie. 

“Correct.”

Steve’s heart jackhammered in sheer delight, but he managed to rearrange his face into what he hoped was a placid mask of acceptance. “Thank you.”

*

Steve stared at the certificate as it printed off. It had his name on it. It had proof, solid evidence, that he’d passed. But it hadn’t quite hit him yet. Not until he got outside and realized he couldn’t call his ma to tell her that he’d finally done it.

There was a Starbucks down the street from club with a public bathroom, so Steve could duck in there and text Sam without everyone on 54th seeing the tears starting to film on his eyes.

_ I did it. _

_ Sam: YES! _

Steve leaned against the bathroom wall, chest hitching with forgotten breath. His college degree in restaurant management had been easy, but the last five years of working his way through service industry had been harder than he’d anticipated. Sam had been a blessing, giving him contacts and job opportunities when he could, and Tony was always encouraging him to come into his restaurants and work on his pairing skills. But this was the first thing he’d done on his own since Ma had passed away. Six months of twice-weekly classes, paid for with assistance by Tony (who could be a really sweet man, despite his protests that he was “a very dangerous, evil man, so you better not tell anyone about this, it will  _ ruin  _ my  _ carefully crafted reputation,  _ Rogers”). Six months of complaining to Sam over ribs at Tony’s BBQ project off Union Square that he wasn’t going to get through it. That his cohort was full of snobby douchebags like Brock, who only liked white wines, and idiots like Rollins, who thought you could pair a Barolo with  _ meatballs _ . 

Now it was over. Steve was a certified sommelier. 

And the one person he wanted to talk to about it the most was gone. 

Sam knew, because Sam was a genius, and texted  _ I know you miss her man. _

_ Yeah. I do. But she’d be really proud of me.  _

_ Sam: Hell yeah she would be. You earned this, Sommelier Steve.   
_ _ Sam: Let’s do Boudoir tonight - Nat’s on. We’ll get free fries. _

 

* * *

Le Boudoir was an intimate, rococo style speakeasy tucked into Cobble Hill. The decor was absolutely breathtaking, with plush red booths, wood-paneled ceilings, and baroque paintings hanging on the walls. Steve loved every bit of this place, specifically the nights Sam’s girlfriend Natasha was on as bartender. Nat was terrifying, but fiercely warm and loving at the same time. It was obvious to anyone with a pulse that Sam adored her, and Steve was hard-pressed to say a bad word about her to anyone. (She’d probably kill him in a very creative way if he tried.)

The bar’s entrance was hidden away, down a flight of stairs. The entrance opened at 6PM, when a facade bookcase wall rolled away. Opening it always felt to Steve like he was stepping into another world. The TARDIS in a sweet little neighborhood in Brooklyn. The second they walked into the private room in the back, carved into the stone wall, he was enveloped by hoots and hollers from his friends. It made him feel warm inside, like a fire was lit up in his soul.

“Mr. Bigshot Sommelier!” Clint Barton yelled, hopping to his feet. He grabbed Steve in a bear hug. “Knew you’d do it. We all did.”

“Well, some of us knew more than others,” Peggy Carter said with a sly wink. She leaned over from her position in the corner of the commandeered to give Steve a kiss on the cheek that Steve was positive wouldn’t smudge her flawless red lipstick. “I know one of the guys at the club. He said he’d never seen anyone who knows New World wines like you do.”

“Aw, Pegs,” Steve said, glad that the low lights in the bar were hiding his flush. 

“English, you made him go red like a beet.” Angie, Peggy’s girlfriend, smirked, and gave Steve a high-five. “We’ve got a round of fries headed our way.”

“Amazing,” Steve said. “Is the WiFi password still the same?” 

Steve was  _ very  _ amused by Le Boudoir’s password the first time he asked Nat. “It’s  _ ‘butofcourse’ _ ?!” he’d choked. “Could this place get any douchier?”

“Say that again and I’ll spike your Malbec with codeine,” Nat said sweetly. Steve believed it. 

“Did you guys order yet, or is Nat waiting for us to get here?” Steve asked. The group immediately quietened down. “Guys? Anybody?”

He turned to Sam, who looked chastened. “Ah, man. Nat has extra rehearsals tonight. She had to cut down her shift. I found out when we were on our way here but everyone was already here so I couldn’t really say we had to cut and run.”

“Wait, so she’s not on? So that means-”

“Well, well well, it must be my lucky day.”

What had been one of the best days of Steve’s life quickly melted into the type of sludge that was collecting around New York City’s storm drains. 

Standing in the open doorway of the private party area, eyes sparkling with merriment, was the bane of Steve’s existence. His mortal enemy. 

Bucky Barnes.

The man with all the answers in Steve and Sam’s classes back in college. The man who seemed hellbent on making Steve’s life absolutely miserable, with his cocky swagger and inexplicable love of mixology and his long hair that never seemed to stay in its messy bun and his jeans that seemed to be glued to his thighs through some will of God. 

They’d been enemies for ten years. In that way you swear animosity against someone you also wouldn’t mind fucking into next week, if only to make them shut the hell up. 

“We need to leave,” Steve hissed at Sam, but Sam gestured, amused but helpless, to Steve’s friends. They were stuck here.  _ Dammit. _

So Steve put on a happy face (or as close as he could muster) and turned around to face Bucky. “Barnes.”

Bucky flashed him a smile that was brighter than all of the bulbs in the room, _ damn him _ . He was dressed in a black button down with rolled up sleeves, black jeans, and his hair was scraped away from his face in his usual low messy bun. On his feet were the same work boots he’d had since college; Steve could still remember the sound they made as Bucky clomped into one of their marketing courses. Like an exuberant elephant.

“Heard the good news from Tasha,” Bucky said brightly. “I don’t know shit about wine, as you well know-” Steve felt his jaw tighten - “but reaching sommelier status deserves some type of celebration, hm?”

“I guess?” Steve worked around the growing ache in his teeth. 

“I don’t understand what’s going on,” Kate Burton, Clint’s cousin, whispered slightly too loudly for polite company.

“Oh, it’s quite simple. Steve and Bucky aren’t allowed to drink together - or do much else - because they end up yelling at each other about wine and mixed drinks. And anything else they could possibly argue about.”

“We don’t  _ yell,”  _ Steve protested. 

Bucky snorted as he emerged from behind the bar with a pad and paper.  _ “He  _ yells.  _ I  _ debate in an enthusiastic manner.”

“What would you call that time at Stars and Stripes, then?” Peggy asked, arching a perfectly sculpted eyebrow.

“Well, Steve shouldn’t challenge me when he’s drunk on free Prosecco,” Bucky replied. 

“Okay, first of all, it wasn’t free, it was a  _ very expensive  _ bottle of Valdobbiandene Tony swiped from his Dad’s cellar,” Steve retorted, his face getting tight. “ _ I _ wasn’t the one who brought a bottle of swill from some distillery in Williamsburg and called me a grape juice snob.” 

“It was chocolate whiskey from King’s County Distillery!” Bucky shot back, still looking amused despite the raised pitch of his voice. “And they aren’t in Williamsburg anymore, they’re now at the Navy Yard.”

“Well, there are so many friggin’ distilleries in Brooklyn, it’s hard to keep track of what hipster neighborhood they’ve moved to.” Steve waved a hand in the air. “Are you going to take our orders, or not?”

“Yeah, yeah, keep your hair on, Rogers.” Bucky just smirked, which only served to make Steve even more annoyed. “I’ve taken a few drink orders in the group, but I think I want to make you a little something. As a congratulations.” He reached onto the table and snapped away the drink menu, holding it behind his back so Steve couldn’t get it back. “Nope. This is on me. I’m making you a surprise.” 

“Great,” Steve muttered. Sam made a cut-off laughing sound as Bucky swept back to the bar to work his magic, or whatever the fuck he did back there. 

As much as it pained Steve to admit it, Bucky wasn’t only rakishly attractive but he was damn good at his job. It would be easier to hate him if he was awful, but Bucky’s skills as a bartender were matched only by Nat. They had different specialties; Nat knew her Eastern European drinks cold, but Bucky liked experimenting with different palates and flavors that people wouldn’t expect in a cocktail. He’d worked at Le Boudoir for three years and had even helped the owner design the menu. The drinks changed once every two months, mainly because Bucky was easily bored. And because he was  _ the worst. _

Most of the group had their drinks already, but Steve and Sam arrived in time to watch Bucky present Clint with his. It was served in a silver goblet. Pale yellow in color, the drink had only one ice cube in it, sprinkled with caraway seeds. “The Axel von Fersen,” Bucky dramatically pronounced, setting the drink down in front of Clint. “Bourbon, sesame, applejack, and curry.”

Clint took a sip and his eyes nearly crossed in delight. “Fuuuuuuck. Barnes, you’re good.” 

“I know,” Bucky said blithely. Steve rolled his eyes. If Bucky had seen it, he didn’t let on. He swept back to the bar, and Steve resolutely did not stick his tonngue out at Bucky’s back, Steve was an  _ adult _ , after all.

The next one came for Sam; a beautiful copper mug similar to the ones used to serve Moscow Mules. “The 1793. Rye, oloroso sherry, and some demerara sugar sprinkled on the rim.

“Oh, and the rye is infused with toasted sunflower seeds,” Bucky added, when Sam tried it and scrunched his eyes as if to find a specific flavor that was missing. “Gives it an extra kick.” 

The final drink, made for Steve, was a blood red concoction served in a clear glass. Steve took it with wary hands. “It’s not poison, right?”

“I’d be a shitty bartender if that were the case,” Bucky grinned, and watched as Steve sipped it. 

The drink had rye in it; Steve knew from the moment the liquid touched his tongue. Then, the unmistakable taste of sherry. “Manzanilla,” he said softly. Bucky cackled. “Knew you’d like that. Any more guesses?”

Another sip. This time, Steve detected hints of apricot on the backnote of the cocktail. “Amaretto?”

“Nope!” Bucky folded his arms across his chest, triumphant. “Creme de Noyaux. Similar, though. Made from apricot kernels.”   
  
“Okay, okay, smarty-pants.” Steve set the glass back down on the table and gave three sarcastic golf claps. “You made me a drink with wine it. Now does it have a fun baroque name, or did you make it up?”

Bucky just smiled, and handed over the menu. “Number five on the Outsiders list.”

Because Le Boudoir was pretentious as fuck, it had two drink lists - the first, called The Outsiders, had simpler cocktails. The second, known as The Inner Circle, was for the more discerning drinker.

The fifth drink listed on the Outsiders portion of the menu was called The Terror.

Steve snapped his head up to meet Bucky’s laughing eyes. “It fits you perfectly,” was all Bucky would say.

“You dick,” Steve hissed.

 

* * *

 

Steve woke up the next morning with a hangover to beat the band, very little memory of the night before, and a few text messages from Sam on his phone. He cleared his throat, then winced - had he been yelling?

_ Sam: Sleep okay, princess? _

_ Oh God, what happened? I remember being at Boudoir and I remember getting home. What else happened? _

_ Sam: Well  
_ _ Sam: You had two more of those hell drinks Bucky made you  
_ _ Sam: And you started yelling at him about how putting sherry in a drink doesn’t mean you know anything  
_ _ Sam: And Bucky said you get paid to smell fermented Kool-Aid  
_ _ Sam: And then I may have had to remove you from the bar lest you get us banned  
_ __ Sam: And Bucky told me to bring you back when you, uh, got the giant stick surgically removed from your ass

Steve passed a hand over his forehead, guilt and nausea roiling in his guts. 

_ Did I ruin the night for everyone? _

_ Sam: Hell no we all thought it was funny  
_ _ Sam: Clint said he would’ve paid money to watch you two fight  
_ __ Sam: It would be like Hipster Deathmatch

_ UGH I HATE HIM SO MUCH SAM _

_ Sam: Yeah ok  
_ _ Sam: Kate said she’d put money on you getting your mouth on some Bucky Butt by New Year’s _

Steve choked on his own spit.  _ Hahahah yeah right  _ he texted back. 

It’s not that he’d never thought about it. But it was  _ Bucky.  _

_ Sam: Call me when you’re not a mess ok? I have news _

Steve put his pillow over his face. Even though the apartment was pretty dark, the bare hints of light coming through the blinds threatened to stab him in the face. What the  _ hell. _

It had been freshman year of college when Bucky Barnes had come into his life. Steve and Sam were taking a First Year Experience course that all freshmen were required to take, and Bucky had known every single thing about the campus, probably even more than the instructor did. When Steve politely corrected him on the origin of one of the quad’s artistic landmarks, Bucky had turned around and smiled in a way that plainly said  _ I am going to make your life miserable. _

And he did. All through college, Bucky had managed to find ways to torture Steve ( _ just _ Steve; Bucky and Sam got on like a house on fire). It was compounded by the fact that Bucky wasn’t a terrible person - he was affable, and smart, and had a killer sense of humor, and every once and a while, they actually got along pretty well. 

It didn’t hurt that college was the time Steve finally admitted to himself and his friends that he was bisexual, and Bucky had an ass that didn’t  _ quit.  _

It was just...most of the time, they couldn’t be in the same room. It always ended in an argument. Especially when their chosen vocations were involved, and Steve had announced upon graduation that he was going to start working towards becoming a sommelier.

“But Steve,” Bucky would whine as he poured out a line of jager shots at the bar where he worked at the time, “wine is  _ snob city _ .” 

In the beginning, Steve just shrugged it off. Bucky didn’t know what it meant to deep dive into the history and culture of an entire place based on the exact time a grape was snapped off the vine, crushed in a huge vat, and fermented until it hit just the right taste notes. How gratifying it was to pour a glass of rich red Merlot or expensive champagne (that was certified  _ champagne _ , from the actual region in France). There was a beauty, a seduction, an art to oenology. 

Bucky didn’t get that. Bucky liked to stir shit in a glass and get people hammered. He was very  _ good  _ at what he did - Steve had to admit, last night’s drink was amazing - but still.

And in the beginning, it was easy to brush off. And then it got more and more annoying, and now, Steve could barely make eye contact with Bucky without wanting to punch him, or kiss him.

Whatever shut him up faster.

 

* * *

When he was able to force down some dry toast and coffee, Steve called Sam. “We need to declare a moratorium on Boudoir for a while,” he said, voice feeling raw. Man, he  _ had  _ been yelling last night.  

Sam guffawed. “Well, that’s fine. Because I actually have some big restaurant/bar news.”

Steve’s heart kicked up in his chest. “Oh. Right! Did you sign the contract?”

“Yep. Tony just closed on the property this morning.”

“Holy shit!”

“Yeah.” Even through the phone, the pride in Sam’s voice was evident. “I’ll be in charge of my own kitchen, man. Iron is a go.”

Over the last few months, Tony had been talking up the idea of opening up a high end restaurant to cap off his line of Shield properties. He’d been thinking about it since his most recent project, a Virtual Reality cafe called Vision, had closed as a result of poor sales (Steve  _ knew  _ it had been a bad idea, but did Tony listen? Nooooope). The piece de resistance of the new place, according to Tony, would be a huge marble bar in the center of the main dining room, along with a wine cellar in the basement. He’d been working on closing a space at the city center in Brooklyn Heights, and had promised Sam that when it all fell into place, he’d be the executive chef.

Steve’s heart thudded with pride. “I’m so happy for you, man.”

 

 

There was a bit of a scuffle on the other end of the line, then Tony’s voice butted in with a cheery “Hey, Captain!” Tony’s nickname for Steve had been Captain since college, when he found out Steve had done political advertising for the military. “I’ve got a question for you. How would you like to be Iron’s resident sommelier?”

Steve nearly dropped the phone. “You’re shitting me.”

“I would never shit you. That’s gross.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Iron’s going to have a full wine cellar. I want you to help us stock it and help Sam with menu pairings. We’re also going to have a resident mixologist to create the cocktail menu.”

Excitement, hot and terrifying, pulsed through Steve’s chest. He managed to croak, “That would be amazing, Tony. Thank you. Have you got a mixologist yet? I know Natasha would kill to do that.”

There was silence on the other end of the line, broken up by the soft unmistakable sound of Tony snickering.

“Tony?”

“Natasha actually got promoted to mixologist at Boudoir,” Tony said. “She’ll be in charge of creating their drinks, so she’ll have to be on site most of the time.”

“So…”

“Ah, man,” Sam’s voice said, sounding odd, “I was gonna talk to you about it last night.”

The world went fuzzy at the edges. “No. Sam. No.”

“Yeah…Tony hired Bucky to be the mixologist...” Sam drifted off. In the background, Steve could hear Tony’s laugh become maniacal.

Steve shouted “NO!”

And then he shouted “FUCK!” because his head was still hurting from his hangover.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky just looked more amused, standing a little closer to Steve than was fully necessary. 
> 
> “You know, I think I’m going to need to create a cocktail for you,” he murmured.
> 
> “Oh yeah? W-what’s this one going to be called?” Steve stammered. He could feel the warmth of Bucky’s body and it made him stumble over his words. The dickhead.

“Wow,” Steve exhaled. He stood in the middle of the space that would eventually turn into Iron, Tony and Sam next to him. He held an iPad with a tab open to display the preliminary floor plan designed by Tony’s wife, interior designer extraordinaire Pepper Potts. From it, he could see why Tony wanted to make this restaurant happen. The floor plan was open, warm, and inviting, with a beautiful white marble bar in the center of the dining room. Low hanging lights would only add to the soft ambiance. It was a far cry from Tony’s first restaurant, a German beer garden called Lensherr’s that served pretzels the size of Steve’s face and blasted Rammstein.

“I know, right?” Tony said, rubbing his hands together. “Construction crews get here in the morning. God bless Pepper for knowing how to do all of the boring stuff like ‘contracting workers.’” He walked in a circle, spreading out his arms. “Obviously this part of the restaurant will be Bucky’s domain, since it’s where the bar is. But I wanted to bring you in because I want your approval on the wine cellar.”

Steve’s blood hummed in his veins. He felt a nudge on his arm, and turned to see Sam grinning at him. “You look like you just got a bike for Christmas,” Sam chuckled.

That look, Steve was sure, only intensified once they went downstairs and Steve got a look at the cellar. “Jesus Christ,” he swore, looking at the high ceilings and bright light fixtures. “This thing is humongous.”

“And it’s all waiting for you to fill it,” Tony whispered.

“Ew.” Sam shook his head. “Anyway. Once you figure out what’s going down here, we can meet up and start thinking about wine and food pairings. And I was thinking...wine tasting nights?”

It was times like these when Steve was so fucking happy to be alive. He high-fived Sam, and practically danced his way up the stairs with a cackling Tony and Sam behind.

“Nice moves, Stevie!”

Steve stopped dead; Sam and Tony smashed into him from behind.

Bucky was leaning against the wall of the main dining room, arms folded across his chest. He looked...annoying, in an open leather jacket and a polka-dot buttoned up shirt that was tucked into insufferable black skinny jeans that his thighs were practically bursting out of and his hair all swept back in a messy bun.

This motherfucker.

“What’re you doing here?” Steve stuttered.

Bucky just smiled. “I live in The Azure. Figured I’d pop over to see how the place looks.”

The Azure was located across the street from Dekalb Market Hall, and was one of the newest, nicest high-rise apartments in Downtown Brooklyn. Eran Chen’s design ensured a unique minimalist style, perfect for the ritzy douchebags that seemed to descend en masse on Brooklyn by the hour.

In other words, perfect for Bucky, Steve thought snidely to himself.

“Just looking over the whole room I get to myself, Barnes,” he countered with a soft shrug, attempting nonchalance despite his irritation. “All you get is a little bar in the middle of a bunch of people slurping up appetizers.”

“Excuse me, no one is going to be slurping my food,” Sam said, indignant, but Steve waved him off. Bucky just smiled that soft smile that could almost read as bashful. It made his eyes crinkle.

“I actually get to talk with Sam about rotating the cocktail menu by season, and changing out the well drinks every few months so the customers don’t get bored,” he replied breezily, pushing off the wall and walking over to the three men. Steve’s chest grew tight.

“Well, I plan on having Old and New World wines in stock so we can have tasting flights and wine club nights,” he said, setting his jaw.

Bucky just looked more amused, standing a little closer to Steve than was fully necessary.

“You know, I think I’m going to need to create a new cocktail for you,” he murmured.

“Oh yeah? W-what’s this one going to be called?” Steve stammered. He could feel the warmth of Bucky’s body and it made him stumble over his words. The dickhead.

Bucky just grinned. “The Captain, of course. Captain Morgan and ginger ale. Perfect for a ninety-year-old.”

Steve practically growled. Tony put a hand on his arm. “Cool your jets, man,” he said, tone doing nothing to hide his deep amusement. Bucky kept on smiling, like a cat that got the cream.

*

“Why,” Steve whined as he aggressively dropped three nectarines into his shopping basket. “Why did it have to be him, Sam?”

“You know as well as I do that there’s nobody - other than Nat, of course - I could’ve asked to do this job.” Sam playfully hip-checked Steve as he pushed past him to get at the Honeycrisp apples. They were at Trader Joe’s in the shopping center at Dekalb, after Steve had mentioned he was low on produce. “Bucky’s the best mixologist in Brooklyn. Possibly one of the best in the city.”

“Yeah, but…” Steve knew he sounded like a two year old. But he didn’t care. It was a collision of the best and worst things to happen to him professionally. Getting to build a wine cellar from scratch? Incredible. Having to deal with Bucky Barnes on a daily basis? Horrific.

“I know he’s a pain in the ass, but honestly if you actually talked to him for more than two seconds and didn’t yell at him, you’d find he’s actually a really good guy.” Natasha, who had met Sam and Steve at the grocery store, poked Steve in the shoulder. “And Sam’s right. He’s one of the best in the business.”

“Hold up. Nat just said I was right?” Sam pressed a hand to his heart. “I’m dying. This is it.”

Nat just chuckled and kissed Sam on the cheek. She was beautiful, smart, and just slightly scary, and credited with introducing the group to Siberian vodka. That had been a night, if only Steve could remember it.

And Steve knew that Nat and Steve were both right. He studied a Bosc pear. “He’s just always needling me. I don’t like it.”

“That’s just how he is, man.” Sam picked up a box of chocolate covered pretzels and made doe eyes at Nat; Nat laughed and nodded, permitting Sam to put it in their basket. Sam crowed with excitement, dropping it into the basket next to a bag of kale chips.

The teasing was one thing, Steve thought, as he moved over to the dairy and eggs section. It was fine to gently rib someone. Hell, he and Sam and Tony did it all the time, with Nat and Clint frequently joining in. But there was something about Bucky when he teased Steve that got on Steve’s nerves.

Maybe it was the ever present grin, like he knew something Steve didn’t. Or his hips, cocked in a confident pose like he had all the answers. Or the crinkles at the corners of his grey-blue eyes. Or the impossibly tight pants that no human could ever wear and be comfortable. Or the hair. The fucking hair that kept falling out of its messy bun.

Steve hated Bucky.

Hated him.

Hated - 

“Steve. You’ve been holding that carton of eggs for five minutes. Sometimes you gotta know when to let go.”

Steve looked up to see Nat smirking at him. She ran a hand through her hair, fire engine red with a side shave that only served to make her look even more intimidating.

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbled, stuffing the carton into his basket.

 

* * *

 

  
Steve showed up to the first production meeting for Iron with an iPad full of notes and a notepad with a pen in case the WiFi in Tony’s office decided to be an asshole. Bucky, Sam, and Tony were already there. Bucky was scrolling through his phone, still in that leather jacket, but the rest of his outfit today consisted of a black turtleneck that made him look even more like a foreign snob. Steve felt decidedly underdressed in his blue long-sleeved henley and jeans, but Tony and Sam were dressed just as casually so he didn’t worry about it too much.

  
“Hey!” Sam said delightedly. “We’re just finishing up Bucky’s meeting. Can’t wait to talk to you about wine night stuff.”

“Yeah, I decided we should have a whisky night where I pick a whisky and Sam puts it in a pre fixe menu,” Bucky held up his phone. Steve could see Macallan!!!!! written several times on the Notes app.

“Well, as long as it doesn’t mess with my choices for wine night, I don’t see an issue with it,” Steve said, trying to sound casual when his body was tight as a cello string. The wine tasting night idea was one of the ideas Steve was most attached to. If Bucky’s whisky night messed with that in any way -

“Easy, killer, I’m sure it won’t mess with Grape Juice Jamboree,” Bucky drawled.

I hate him I hate him I hate him I hate him -

“Okay, let’s get started with Steve’s meeting,” Sam said quickly.

“Wait! I want to get a picture of our intrepid team for the website.” Tony leapt out of his chair, grabbing his Starkphone from his pocket. “I want it to be funny, and relatable, and not at all like two of the three people in the picture want to castrate each other.”

“Good luck with that,” Sam mumbled under his breath, but Steve couldn’t help but notice Bucky’s jaw tighten a little as he slid out of his seat to pose for the photo. They took a variety, in different poses, with all three men getting a shot at the front of the photo. A moment of abject silliness struck Steve, and he pointed at himself in one of the photos, which made Bucky snort and Tony grin. “That’s a good one, Rogers.”

“He has a sense of humor after all,” Bucky smirked. Steve managed to shrug it off. The alternative was elbowing Barnes in the face.

When Tony was done, Bucky shook hands with the group. “Always a pleasure, guys.” When he passed Steve, he nudged him with a shoulder. “Obviously a pleasure, Rogers.”

Steve drilled his eyes into the back of Bucky’s head until he was out the door and out of sight before turning back to a clearly amused Sam and Tony.

“Not. A. Word,” he hissed.

“I didn’t say anything!” Tony yelped.

*

“Cap, let’s talk your preferences for the cellar,” Tony said, motioning to his assistant, Happy, who instantly opened a laptop and started furiously transcribing every word out of Tony’s mouth. “Obviously this is going to be an active cellar with climate control, but I’m going to leave the logistics of that to you and your expertise.”

Steve grinned. This was the part he loved. Designing something from the ground up. It’s why he was a graphic designer. “Make sure the racks are made out of redwood or mahogany. They’re resistant to rot. If that’s not possible, wire lattice can work. And the door needs to have a strong seal if we’re going to be controlling the air conditioning. If it’s possible, I’d love to use reclaimed wood for the door?”

“Sounds fancy and environmentally conscious,” Tony nodded, while Happy typed away.

“As far as the wine, I have a list that I feel will be the most effective,” Steve said, pulling up a curated list of wines on his iPad and turning the screen to Tony and Sam. “I’ve split it up into two lists - Old World and New World, and then they’re all sub-categorized by country of origin.” Steve could feel his jaw smart from how hard he was smiling. “As you can tell, I’m kind of full geeking out about this.”

“No, really?” Tony muttered. Sam huffed out a laugh.

“You wouldn’t have hired me if you didn’t think I was the best person qualified for the job, and because of that, I bring meticulous detail to everything I do,” Steve retorted, drawing himself up to full height. “Or was it Happy that hired me?”

“No, no, I totally hired you. Happy drew up the paperwork, because he’s my brain for those things - for most things - but I knew you’d crush it.” Tony pushed a thick manila envelope at him. “Speaking of paperwork...be a dear and fill these out, would you? Preferably in the hall. Mama and I gotta talk dessert menu.”

“Yeah, I have to convince Tony that blowtorches aren’t allowed in my kitchen.”

“Why do you hate fun, Wilson? I just want one.”

“I’m not lighting anything on fire, man.”

"Okay, but if someone important comes in and wants bananas flambe, what are we going to tell them, Wilson?"

"...That it's not 1973?"

*  
Steve didn’t expect Bucky to be still out in the hall. But there he was, feet kicked up on a second chair, filling out his own paperwork. He had his headphones in, so he didn’t hear Steve sit down across from him to start the paperwork.

It actually gave him a chance to look at Bucky at rest, when he wasn’t being a pompous assclown and just concentrating. Sure, Steve had seen him behind the bar multiple times, in his element. But those were performances, full of loud noise and smoke and mirrors. This was just Bucky, sitting quietly, working on his background check. From his spot on the chair, Steve could see how Bucky chewed the inside of his cheek when he was thinking about an answer, and that his grip on the pen was loose, which probably resulted in a scrawling, looping penmanship. A far cry from his own tight cursive, Steve thought ruefully as he began to fill out his own files.

Ma had always gently teased him about Bucky. “You fight so much with that boy, you can’t stop fighting long enough to see that he’s actually a nice person!” she’d admonish him when Steve would come home from college complaining about how he’d gotten drunk the previous weekend and had gotten into yet another argument with Bucky about anything ranging from Star Wars vs. Star Trek (Steve was all about that Jedi life, and Bucky was a hardcore Trekkie) to the Mets vs. the Yankees (Steve would rather die than root for the Evil Empire). When Steve had defended himself (“no, Ma, he’s actually _Satan_ ”), Ma had just rolled her eyes and patted him on the shoulder. She’d met Bucky a few times when she’d come up to visit Steve at school - every time she showed up, Bucky magically seemed to pop up out of nowhere. She loved him, because women loved Bucky. Men loved Bucky, too.

It was really hard to not love Bucky.

When the cancer came back, Ma was unbowed and unafraid in the face of pain and weakness, despite thousands of reasons to crumble. She was the bravest person Steve had ever met in his entire life. Her death the previous year had shaken him down to the bone. Not a lot of people in his life knew about it - he didn’t make a point of talking too much about his personal life with anyone, unless they were very close to him. Sam, Tony, Nat, and Clint all knew, since Steve had grown up with the guys and Nat and Sam lived together in Clinton Hill.

God forbid he'd tell someone like Bucky. That would imply they were friends. 

Now, as Steve sat ostensibly completing his forms but actually just looking at an unsuspecting Bucky, the world seemed a little smaller without his Ma’s guiding hand. And suddenly that made him furious. Furious at the world, furious at cancer, and _really_ furious at Bucky.

He managed to get through the forms and hand them to Happy before stomping out the door, before Bucky lifted his head and saw him, before he could see Bucky’s eyes follow him into the elevator, before he could see Bucky’s face go slack with something like sadness and regret.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Azure is a real apartment building! [Lookit!](http://www.azure436.com)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The next wine and cheese tasting was that evening, and despite the success of his previous events, Steve still felt nervous. Wade had prepared a truckload of cheese and meats, and had Skyped Steve from his shop in The Bronx to check if he was on the right route. Wade specialized in the weird yet delicious, and he knew his stuff. Sometimes he got a little too weird for Sam’s taste; he’d turned down the request Wade had made to bring a shipment of casu marzu, a derivative of pecorino cheese native to Sardinia famous for being fermented with maggots. “It’s technically illegal in the European Union,” Wade said gleefully.
> 
> “Hell fucking no,” Sam had replied. “I’m not letting illegal worms in my kitchen.”
> 
>  _“Technically_ illegal!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *evil laugh*

Iron was a success from the minute it opened. Tony credited the team of Sam, Steve, and Bucky, but Steve was a little more pragmatic. He knew it was more due to the fantastic location, in the heart of downtown Brooklyn, next to several new high-rises. The fact Iron was also in the same center as the Alamo Drafthouse made things easier too - sometimes people didn’t want to eat during the show, inexplicably. 

Plus, it was a Tony Stark restaurant. People were going to want to eat there. 

In Iron’s first six months, Steve had hosted four pre fixe wine nights and one wine and cheese pairing that had gone over so well, Sam wanted to make it a regular feature. He had called up one of his culinary school buddies, cheesemonger Wade Wilson, and Steve had found him both peculiar and hilarious. (The name of his cheese shop was The Stinky Cheese Man. How could Steve  _ not  _ like Wade?)

The next wine and cheese tasting was that evening, and despite the success of his previous events, Steve still felt nervous. Wade had prepared a truckload of cheese and meats, and had Skyped Steve from his shop in The Bronx to check if he was on the right route. Wade specialized in the weird yet delicious, and he knew his stuff. Sometimes he got a little too weird for Sam’s taste; he’d turned down the request Wade had made to bring a shipment of  _ casu marzu _ , a derivative of pecorino cheese native to Sardinia famous for being fermented with maggots. “It’s technically illegal in the European Union,” Wade said gleefully. 

“Hell fucking no,” Sam had replied. “I’m not letting illegal  _ worms _ in my kitchen.” 

_ “Technically  _ illegal!" 

“I have to agree, Wade,” Steve said, although the idea seemed  _ fascinating _ if gross. “Maybe if I come to  _ your  _ shop you can pair it with something.”

“What the shit do you pair  _ that  _ with, cow blood?” Sam muttered, but Steve’s suggestion seemed to pacify Wade. 

“Fine, okay. I promised I will stick with normal,  _ boring  _ cheeses.” He motioned to his girlfriend and shoppe partner, Vanessa, who just grinned and wrote down a few options. “But I can’t promise there won’t be any surprises.”

“Just no cheese that I have to wear a Hazmat suit for, okay?” Sam asked, wearily.

 

* * *

The guests for the wine pairing were ushered into the cellar, where two tables had been set up by the wait staff. Tonight’s menu was pretty straightforward, with introductory pairings with wines and cheeses and a few snack foods on the side for palate cleansers. Iron’s hostess, a delightfully sardonic graduate student named Darcy, winked at Steve. “You’ve got a good crowd tonight. Pretty sure most of them are half in the bag from hanging out at the bar beforehand.”

_ Thanks, Bucky, _ Steve thought, and rolled his eyes at Darcy, who snickered as she closed the door. 

Bucky had been pretty well behaved over the months since Iron’s opening. There had only been two or three moments where Steve was positive he was going to throttle Bucky with his bare hands. That was tremendously improved from Tony’s prediction that Bucky or Steve would be dead within the first week. But their schedules had worked out so that Steve would be in the wine cellar with tasting tables while Bucky was up at the bar, and if Bucky was running a booze night, Steve wasn’t needed. 

Bucky had run several specials with mix drinks created to honor specific occasions, and the whisky and food menu night had been a huge success. Steve had to admit, the guy knew how to work a crowded room like very few people could. That wasn’t so much Steve’s style. He preferred the small, intimate groups.

Like right now.

He stood in front of the two tables, and rubbed his hands together. Showtime. 

“Hi! Welcome to the wine cellar at Iron," he said, in a damn good mood. "I’m so glad you all could come. My name is Steve.”

“Hi, Steve,” the group chorused. 

Steve laughed. “Very nice! I’m really excited about the wines and cheeses we have prepared for you to sample tonight. Now, we do have spit buckets in case you don’t want to get too drunk, but if you don’t want to spit, you can just keep on drinking.” A small “whoo hoo” went up from the second table, and Steve shot them a cheeky grin before continuing. “Now, this is the Beginners night, so if you try this and love it, you should all come back in a few weeks when Wade and I will be going through more, um,  _ exotic _ pairings.”

“Yeah, that’s when the weird shit is gonna go down, so get fucking psyched,” Wade chimed in from his spot near the back, carving out bite-sized chunks from a huge wheel of parmigiano reggiano. 

The crowd laughed, which relieved Steve and pleased Wade, who waggled his eyebrows.

“Okay!” Steve said, clapping his hands. “So. A quick tip about pairing wine and cheese: the heavier the wine is, you need to increase the heft, or fat content, in the cheese you’re pairing with it.” 

“Yeah, and people think the creamier the cheese, the more fat it has in it.” Wade added. He pointed to the parmigiano wheel. “This actually has more fat content than something like a Triple-Creme.” 

“Exactly. And don’t pair your wines with cheeses that have mold in them!” Steve said. “I know everyone loves Brie, but make that into a different appetizer.” 

“We make a  _ really  _ good Brie, if you want to head on up to the Bronx at some point. I’m just saying. We’re kind of amazing.” Wade brushed invisible dust off his shoulder. 

Steve huffed out a laugh, and gestured to his assistant, sommelier-in-training Peter Parker. “This is a 2014 Domaine Jean-Paul Picard Sancerre, from the Loire region of France," he said, as Peter poured the wine into glasses. "It’s a Sauvignon Blanc, so, it has a crisp finish, but it’s also very fruity. Some would even describe it as creamy.” 

He paused, allowing the guests to sample the wine, and then motioned to Wade, who stepped forward with a flourish.

“Right, so since Sauvignon Blancs pair best with a goat cheese, and this wine is from Loire, I’ve paired this wine with Crottin de Chavignol, which is the most famous cheese from that Valley. It’s produced at all three stages of maturity, but I’ve given you guys the most matured version because I personally think it’s the best. Nothing but the best for Mr. Rogers and his neighborhood.” Wade waggled his eyebrows at Steve.

The rest of the tasting flew by, as the guests sampled a Cabernet Sauvignon with aged Gouda from Holland, Montepulciano d’Abruzzo with parmigiano reggiano (with Prosciutto di Parma thrown in, at the request of Wade), a Pinot Noir with white cheddar from Cowgirl Creamery, and Steve rounded off the night with a late bottled vintage Port with some artisanal chocolates. 

Throughout the night, Steve felt like his heart was going to burst with pride. This. This is what he was meant to do. It meant everything to him to share his knowledge. Throughout evening, he joked with the guests, nailed the pairings, and Wade was actually not as gross and annoying as he always was.

The evening was an unequivocal success. By the end, Steve’s face hurt from smiling, and he’d felt a quiet thrill to see so many of the guests write down his information. He even secured several appointments for a private wine tasting. When the last client left, he high fived Peter and hugged Wade. “Another tremendous success,” he pronounced.

Wade cackled. “Does this mean that I can bring out the big guns for next time?”

“I really don’t think Sam’s going to let you do the  _ casu marzu _ , Wade. Not unless you get him super drunk first. Wait, forget I said that!” he added quickly, seeing the manic gleam in Wade’s eyes.

He was carefully setting the bottles back onto the wine cart when he heard a small cough. He turned to see Bucky standing in the doorway of the cellar, hands shoved into his pockets, looking downright lost.

The good mood Steve had built up all evening threatened to flush itself right out of him, but he stiffened his spine. Not even Bucky Barnes could ruin this buzz. “Yes?” he asked, not too unkindly.

Bucky shifted from one foot to the other, looking at the wall behind Steve. “I heard you were doing a tasting so I stopped by to check it out.”

“Oh, you were eavesdropping?” Steve managed to joke. “Did you think Wade was going to bring that maggot cheese just to fuck with me? Wouldn’t surprise me - one time we were doing a pairing and he threatened to castrate someone who didn’t appreciate camembert.”

“No, I just - ah.” Bucky’s tone was undecipherable. “I’d never seen you do one of these before. Figured I’d see what you do in real time. There’s...there’s a lot going on.” 

“Yeah, well, now you know it’s a little harder than just, you know, squeezing grapes until the juice comes out,” Steve said, tone breezy with just a touch of overconfidence. “Any questions, comments, insults?”

Something flashed across Bucky’s face, before he shuttered his expression and straightened up. “No. Sorry.” And Bucky was gone, leaving Steve to shrug it off and continue cleaning up.

 

* * *

 

Bucky’s way of getting under Steve’s skin was always to tease him. A light cajoling, mainly because Steve knew that Bucky knew it would make him annoyed, with a telltale blush pinking up his cheeks. It was annoying, sure, but it was also a routine. It was bizarrely comforting. 

But after the wine tasting, Bucky’s playful, annoying manner transformed into straight up douchebag.

“Do you have to have all of these fucking wine tastings on the schedule?” he exploded at Steve during a staff meeting, when Steve had suggested a couples night with wine and chocolate pairings. “Some of us need nights too, Jesus.”

Steve blinked. “I...didn’t think you needed anything that week. You’re doing that bourbon tasting the next week.”

“Yeah, well...whatever.” Bucky tucked his chin in and went silent.

Bucky ignored Steve for the rest of the meeting and stalked out when it wrapped up. Tony looked over at Steve, eyes wide. “Did you kill his dog or something?”

“No! I don’t know what I did!”

“That’s the thing.” Tony made a face. “I mean, I know he’s always annoying you, but that was a bit much even for him.” 

It continued on from there. Either Bucky just ignored him flat out, or lashed out with some remark that was far from his usual cheerful, annoying jokes. To everyone else, he was his pleasant, normal self - smiling at Darcy when he walked in, cracking wise to Sam as he clocked in for his shift. But the second Steve walked by the bar, Bucky would instantly shut down, either ignoring him entirely, or making a show out of how annoyed he was. 

It made Steve feel...weird. Not that he  _ liked  _ the previous pattern of Bucky gently teasing him, but he definitely preferred it over whatever  _ this _ was. At least the other times made him feel a little bit something extra, like there was a buzz in the air, a television just turned off with the sizzle still simmering around the screen. Now, every walk into Iron felt fraught with a tension that felt like Bucky was smashing the TV monitor in with a hammer. At least before, Steve could just brush off the jokes and get on with his day. This made him feel small, like how he was in middle school. Skinny, easily breakable. Bucky didn’t know him like that. He only knew the big, growth-spurt Steve, who always seemed like he could handle anything life threw at him. It made Steve feel small, yes, but also angry, like how he had been in school, too - the kind of angry that will smash things because what else could one do with all of that rage, all of that feeling, that grief?

So, it was only a matter of time before it all came to a head. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *EVILLER LAUGH*


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bucky gets mad, Steve gets vindictive, an apology goes wrong, and....

It was Sunday brunch time at Iron. Steve wasn't on for the day because he had some commissions to get through, but he wanted to tinker with some of the inventory in the cellar. When he came in, Bucky was up at the bar slinging bloody Marys at the hungover patrons. Judging by the squint on his face when he looked up and saw Steve, he was still in that pissy mood. Steve tried to ignore it and headed down to do his work. 

When he emerged from the cellar, Steve saw Peter’s girlfriend, MJ, sitting at one of Bucky’s tables near the bar, with a few friends. “Hey!” she called, and waved him over. “We were hoping you’d be here.” 

Steve greeted them, stuffing his notepad back into his cross-body bag.

“This is Gwen Stacy and Miles Morales, they’re friends of mine in the grad program,” MJ told him, waving her hand at the blonde girl and black guy sitting with her. “I told them how great the food is here, and they had to come check it out.” 

“Well if you’re up for it, you should get the French toast, or the scones. They’re insane. Peggy’s amazing.” Peggy, whom Tony hired as the pastry and dessert consultant, had created an amazing brunch menu, and Steve was looking forward to getting a raspberry scone.

“MJ and I want mimosas, but I also _don't_  want one. Aren’t mimosas really basic?” The look on Gwen’s face told Steve she didn’t really care if Steve agreed with her or not. She thought they were basic, ergo, they were basic.

“I think mimosas are pretty much a requirement at brunch, but I get the hesitation,” he said. 

“Actually…” Steve started, then paused. Normally, he would never step on Bucky’s clientele; these were Bucky’s customers and Bucky was in charge of recommending to them the type of drink they would enjoy. But at the same time, he knew MJ, so it technically wasn’t outside of the bounds of normal conversation to suggest something to them. Steve decided to go for it. “Do you mind if I make a suggestion?”

“Isn’t it, like, your job?” MJ asked, slightly sardonically.

“Well,  _ yes,”  _ Steve said, shooting her a look. She feigned terror. Steve didn’t trust it for a second. This was the same woman who proudly talked about how many times she’d been arrested at Black Lives Matter events. Steve didn’t scare her one bit, and Steve knew it. 

“Well, mimosas are awesome, of course. Can’t go wrong with that. But I think a really awesome alternative is a bellini, if you’ve ever had that.” Steve wrote it down on a napkin. “Prosecco and peach puree, or peach nectar if we don’t have the puree. It originates from Harry’s Bar in Venice. It’s not on the menu, I don’t think, but I’m positive Bucky can make it for you if you ask him about it. He’d be even more of an idiot than I thought if he didn’t know.” 

“So it’s an Italian mimosa?” MJ asked.

“Kind of? The mimosa was invented in the mid 1920s, and this was about five or six years after, when Harry’s Bar opened. Plus, nobody’s going to think you’re basic if you order a bellini.” Steve winked, and MJ laughed. 

“Thanks for the help. You’re really good at this,” Gwen Stacy said, eyes wide.

“I mean, it  _ is  _ his job, babe,” Miles said with a smirk. 

“Oh shut up.”

Steve chuckled, then turned to head into the kitchen to say hello to Sam when Bucky stepped out in front of him. 

“Steve.” Bucky looked like plaster about to crack at the seams. “Can I speak to you in private?”

“Uh, yes?” Steve looked back at MJ and Peter, but they were too engrossed in the menu now to help. He steeled himself, and walked back with Bucky to the hallway between the offices and the kitchen.

When they got back there and the door shut, Bucky wheeled on Steve, looking livid. “What the  _ fuck _ , Rogers.” His voice was low, but effortful, like he was trying to keep it down.

“What?!” Steve threw up his hands in defense, panicked. “What did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did, you asshole,” Bucky seethed. “You took my customers. The bar is  _ my  _ area. Those are  _ my  _ people. I’m in charge of what to recommend to them. And -  _ and  _ \- I’m out of peach puree. So _now_ I’m gonna look like an idiot because they’ll ask for something that I can’t make.”

“Then make it with the leftover mango puree from Peggy’s fruit pastry tart thing she made last night, it works just as well,” Steve replied, trying to keep his voice even. “I suggested it because they’re friends of mine and they didn’t want mimosas.”

“That’s not your call to make, Rogers!” Bucky exploded. “That was a dick move, Rogers, and you know it.”

“I think I understand why you’re so pissed at me, Barnes,” Steve squared his shoulders. “You’re pissed because I helped out a customer and you didn’t. Because at the end of the day, you know I’m right. I’ve even heard you  _ say _ if you made one more mimosa you were going to beat yourself to death with the Champagne bottle. So just face it - I helped out a customer, and you didn’t, and that sticks in your craw.”

Bucky closed his eyes. When he opened them again, they were nearly black. “You know, I haven’t seen your mother in a long time, Rogers, but I can bet she’d be really ashamed of how much of a dick you’ve become.”

The world narrowed down to a single fixed point, and Steve had to breathe very hard through his nose to keep from doing something he would instantly, immediately regret. His heart felt constricted in his chest. The urge to fight fell out of him, replaced by the instant, crushing grief Steve hadn’t felt since the days in the hospital, watching a heartbeat on a monitor slow, then stop. 

“Well, good thing she’s dead then, huh?” he choked.

The color slid out of Bucky’s face. “She-”

“Yeah. About two years ago. Ovarian cancer. Got hit, couldn’t shake it.” Steve probably should have been concerned by how numb his voice sounded, but he was teetering on the edge of a complete and total meltdown. He needed to get out of there. He turned. “Good talking to you, Barnes.”

Somewhere in the vague recesses of his ears, Steve could hear Bucky calling out to him, but it was too late. He was out the door of the restaurant, pushing through the summer heat to get back to the subway. His hands shook so hard he ended up shoving them into his pants pockets.

The ride back to his apartment was a blur. All Steve could think about was the frail, cool press of hands in his own, the dry feel of a forehead against his lips, the bare hint of a smile when he would step into the hospital room. The black suit he wore to the funeral. The eulogy he had to prepare, since no one else was around to do it. The way Sam, Clint, and Nat held him up afterward, even making him laugh when Steve felt like collapsing. The months of figuring his life out again, of learning to laugh in the face of utter devastation.

He managed to hold it together until he got back to Prospect Heights, back to his little apartment his Ma had helped him pick out when he moved out of their place in Red Hook, sat down on the couch he’d taken from the old apartment after she died, and allowed the sadness and anger to pour out of him, water from a busted tap. Outside, a police car screamed down the street.

 

* * *

 

Later on in the evening, Sam texted Steve with four question marks. When Steve told him what happened, Sam immediately called him. “What the  _ hell?!”  _ he exploded.

“Oh, you found out what Bucky said?” Steve said dryly. He’d taken a long shower and made dinner, and was decanting a  _ very  _ expensive Bordeaux, because fuck it. 

“I’m not mad at Bucky, I’m mad at you.”

Steve nearly dropped the bottle. “What the fuck?” 

“Yeah. How many people in your life know Sarah died?”

“You, Nat, Tony, Clint…” Steve trailed off.

“Yeah. So you whip out your dead mom to make your work enemy feel bad for you. Smooth move, kid. Might as well blowtorch his nuts while you’re at it. I get that you hate Bucky -”

“I don’t  _ hate  _ him,” Steve tried to interrupt, but Sam made a noise that sounded like a large Doberman, and Steve fell silent.

“You need to share more of your life with others. By doing this, you’re dishonoring Sarah. So yeah. Maybe she would be disappointed. Because that’s not the Steve I know, man. And also, if you keep pulling shit like this, I’m gonna have to tell Tony. And I like Tony, but I like you more, so you don’t want me to tell Tony that his two drink specialists are having a soap opera catfight on his premises.” 

 

* * *

 

When he came back to work the next day, everyone was setting up their work for the afternoon lunch crowd. The Black Keys were blaring from the bar, and Bucky was scrubbing at a glass a little too vigorously.

_ I got a tortured mind   
_ _ And my blade is sharp   
_ _ A bad combination   
_ __ In the dark

_ If I kill a man  
_ _ In the first degree   
_ _ Baby would you   
_ __ Flee with me?

Steve’s fists involuntarily clenched. Call it a reflex from his middle school days of trying to speak with violence.

But Sam’s words ran through his head, and begrudgingly, he had to admit that his friend was right. He shouldn’t have pulled that with Bucky. Bucky, as insufferable as he was, didn’t deserve that. 

“Bucky.” 

Bucky stopped scrubbing at the glass, and looked up. His entire face looked tight, like his skin was stretching to cover up how he felt. “Rogers.”

“...how are you?” 

Immediately, Steve felt like an idiot, because Bucky’s eyes widened, then narrowed down to sapphire-blue slits. 

“You got a lot of fucking nerve, asking me that,” he retorted.

“Okay, um. Can we have this conversation in private?”

Bucky silently put his glass and towel down on the bartop, and stalked off to the back, where his small cave of an office was located behind the kitchen. On his way back, Steve caught a glimpse of Peggy making a round of profiteroles, and she met his gaze for a moment. There was empathy in her eyes, but Steve knew it had more to do with the tongue-lashing he was about to get from Bucky as opposed to any sort of pity for Steve himself.

When they got into the office, Steve waited for Bucky to close the door before opening his mouth, but Bucky wheeled on him, yelling before he even got a chance to say anything. 

“Do you know how horrible I feel right now?”

“I said I was -”

“Not because of what you did, Jesus Christ.” Bucky waved his hand to get Steve to shut up. “I’m talking about the fact that you didn’t tell me about Sarah in the first place. I know - I  _ knew _ \- Sarah,” here Bucky took a deep breath, and stilled his hands on his hips before continuing, “she was always someone that liked to ask about what I was doing and how school was, every single time she came up to visit you at school or saw one of our presentations, and you couldn’t tell me that she  _ died _ .”

“I didn’t think it-”

“You didn’t think it _mattered,_ _really?_ ” Two dots of red appeared on Bucky’s cheeks. “Just because you hate me doesn’t mean I’m supposed to hate your mom. I really liked Sarah. I would’ve wanted to be at the funeral, to send a fucking card or something, or make a donation. And because of whatever vendetta you have against me, you couldn’t tell me someone I really liked was  _ dead,”  _ Bucky’s hand shot out and poked Steve in the chest, “and I had to find out about it in the worst possible way.” 

An ugly feeling spread out over Steve’s chest, something dark and urgent, but mixed with it was that stubbornness that Sarah Rogers always used to call “your great undoing, Steven.” 

“Excuse me if I didn’t want someone who hates me attending my mom's funeral,” he seethed. 

Bucky blinked. “What the fuck’re you talking about?”

“Oh come on!” Steve laughed, a black, pitch-thick sound. “You’ve had it out for me since the second you met me. Don’t even lie.”

Bucky’s mouth opened, then closed, then opened, before he finally could make words. “That is so the opposite of true, I can’t even begin to tell you.  _ You  _ hate  _ me.” _

“I don’t  _ hate _ you!” Steve exploded.

"Then why do you act like I'm such a fucking asshole?!"

"Because I just hate that you think you’re better than me!” Steve roared.

Bucky's jaw dropped. For a moment there was no sound from either of them, a black hole of silence. When Bucky finally spoke, it was soft, but deadly even. "You think I think I'm better than you?"

"Don't you?" 

"Steve - you're so - I can't even -" Bucky spluttered, putting his hands on his hips, looking like a man in need of a life preserver.

"What!?" Steve said, so fucking sick of all of it. "I'm right? I'm wrong? Jesus Christ, just say something." 

He braced for the unknown to come. A fight. Blows. Bucky storming out. A thousand scenarios, and none of them good.

Out of those scenarios, none of them were of Bucky kissing him.  

The kiss was quick, but when Bucky pulled away Steve could taste the hint of lime and sugar on his mouth, from the virgin mojitos Bucky liked to drink during his shifts (“Yeah, I know, they’re lame and make me look like a college girl at her first spring break, but that shit is delicious, okay, don’t judge me, Grape Juice”).

Steve’s rage dissipated in favor of blind shock. 

Bucky had  _ kissed  _ him. Bucky. Bucky Barnes. Bucky Barnes, the bartender who made Steve’s life a living hell on a daily basis. Steve should be furious. He should push past Bucky, tell Tony, and get him fired and out of his life for good.

The logical things to do swirled in Steve’s brain, along with the sudden, not-entirely-unwelcome newness of something else curling up his spine.  _ Want _ . Tingling, prickly  _ want  _ forming a trail through his gut. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry,” Bucky breathed, but Steve waved a hand at him to shut him up. He studied Bucky’s face. There was uncertainty and a bit of regret, but there was something else there, that light that was always there when Bucky would tease him. His mouth was still slightly open, too, like he was waiting for Steve to make a move.

And Steve Rogers was never one to back down from a challenge.

“Not as sorry as I’m gonna be."

This time, Steve tasted Bucky as well as the mojito. And that was more intoxicating than any alcohol.

_A sinister kid is a kid who_   
_Runs to meet his Maker_   
_A drop dead sprint from the day he's born_   
_Straight into his Maker's arms_   
_And that's me, that's me_   
_The boy with the broken halo_   
_That's me, that's me_   
_The devil won't let me be_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers are my porn. But porn will happen in the next chapter, don't worry.
> 
> WHEEE! THANKS SO MUCH FOR THE COMMENTS AND KUDOS!!!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I don't see nothin' wrong...with a little bit of bump and griiiiind.."

 Bucky, Steve remembered, lived at The Azure at 436 Albee Square West, directly across the street from Iron’s location in Dekalb Market Hall.

Bucky’s apartment was minimalist and gorgeous. The Azure was modern to the point of being annoying, with ceiling-to-floor windows completing the look. Upon entry, a beautiful, gleaming white kitchen with stainless steel appliances that made Steve’s studio look downright homely with its older fixtures and vintage furniture he bought at East Village thrift shops. Steve had been here once before, when Bucky had hosted a small dinner party for Iron’s team. The whole night Steve had tried his hardest to grit his teeth and smile at Bucky’s little jabs.

 

* 

 

They burst through the door once Bucky managed to get his key in the lock, not without some difficulty as Steve was plastered to his back, kissing up and down and across his neck and shoulders. Now that he had his mouth on Bucky, he didn’t want to stop. If he stopped, he’d have to think about what he was doing. Bad idea. Thinking was bad.

He found himself pressed flush against the inside of the door, Bucky’s hands flying to Steve’s belt and ripping it off with a ferocity that went straight to Steve’s cock, which was already _really_ interested in the proceedings, had been since they attempted to walk out of Iron and across the street to Bucky’s apartment without getting arrested for public indecency.  

They had kept a lid on it throughout their shifts, sending each other little heated looks if they crossed into the other’s turf. But at 12AM, when they had both clocked out, Bucky had looked over at Steve with unmistakable desires in his gaze. Steve took that as a straight up invitation. After all, Bucky lived _right across the street._  

The ten years of their sometimes-friendship, mostly-animosity flashed across Steve’s mind as Bucky stuck his hand down his pants, cupped him through his underwear, and nipped at the bottom of his jaw. Bucky had always been one to stand too close to Steve, wink a little too much, tease just a little too hard. And now, with Bucky breathing down his neck, slotting himself up against Steve...Steve let his head thunk against the door, and he gave in. He surrendered.

 

*

 

They moved without much elegance to the bedroom. Steve managed to take in the huge windows and blue-green styling before losing all sense of space and time, anything that wasn’t Bucky’s body, Bucky’s hands, Bucky’s mouth.

Steve’s hands fasted onto Bucky’s shirt and pulled him until his calves hit the bed. They fell down with an “ooph!”, Bucky fall straight on top of him and nearly slamming their heads together. They broke apart, for only a second, but there was no laughing or any kind of levity to break the unbearable tension. Instead, Bucky sat up until he straddled Steve’s waist, kneewalked down, and wiggled Steve out of his pants, letting them fall to the floor with a soft sound of fabric on wood. He crawled back up Steve’s body, a move that nearly had Steve’s eyes crossing, and captured his mouth again.

When they kissed, it was hard and unrelenting, and Jesus Christ it turned Steve on. It had been a while, after all - there had been the guy in his sommelier school cohort, a hot as fuck Norwegian guy named Thor who loved really dry reds, and he’d fucked Steve a few times. Thor was phenomenal, with a big heart and a horse cock, but this was like nothing else Steve had ever felt. Bucky was...fuck, Steve wanted him _everywhere._

“Fuck,” Steve scraped out, before Bucky rolled off him to get his own pants off. 

They moved together, grinding slowly, Steve feeling every bit of Bucky’s cock through his underwear, and Steve getting close to coming _embarrassingly_ early. Bucky, damn him, seemed to know that, and started to move faster, hips pumping down, bracing his hands on either side of Steve’s head.  

Steve knew they weren't going to make it long enough to do anything more than just rub up against each other, but somehow that sounded absolutely perfect. Steve wanted to feel every inch of Bucky's body, dragging their cocks together until they're both positively dripping with it. And that 

“Close.” 

“Yeah?” 

“Yeah, you fucking-” Steve’s voice dropped out as Bucky pushed down harder, right up against the head of his dick. He moaned, the sound slightly echoing off the windows in the bedroom. Bucky huffed a laugh that quickly died when Steve retaliated by rolling his hips up too.

It seemed like a battle to see which one of them would come first. Steve had never really thought of sex as violent, but this was as close to violent as one could get without actual bruises showing up. The lights from the city covered their bodies and the bed, a kaleidoscope of yellows and reds and whites, and Steve fell into them, fell into Bucky, fell into this bad, bad decision that was also feeling like a really smart one too. 

Steve came first, hard and fast, and when he wrenched open his eyes, he saw Bucky staring at him, poleaxed. Before Steve could ask what was wrong, Bucky ripped his gaze away and buried his face into Steve’s shoulder, coming with a few tight jerks of his hips. 

Aside from the deep, gulping breaths of both men, the room was eerily quiet. Bucky was still on top of Steve; Steve wondered if he would move, or shove Steve aside when he did so, or even punch Steve in the face. Again, so many options.

Bucky did move, but it wasn’t with aggression. He slumped over to the side, and lay still on the edge of the bed, face turned away from Steve. Steve paused, then gingerly sat up, wincing at the wetness in his underpants and on his stomach from both his and Bucky’s release.

“I should…” he started. Bucky turned to face him, and Steve stopped dead. Bucky looked...it wasn’t anything he could fully describe. Flashes of things lit across Bucky’s face. Regret was in there, for sure. But mixed in there too was something akin to relief.

For a moment Steve thought he shouldn’t go. He should just sit here, and they should actually talk things out. If there were things Bucky wanted to talk about, of course.

But then Bucky nodded, as if his head was moving through gel. Steve’s heart sank, which surprised him; what was his heart doing, getting involved with this? 

Slowly, he made his way to the connected bathroom, where he found tissues to clean himself. 

He was quiet as he left, without barely a look back. But he knew Bucky was still on the bed.

It was then, after the door clicked shut behind him, that Steve realized his hands were shaking.

 

* * *

 

“Tony, what the fuck!?”

Bucky rapped on the door of the wine cellar with a closed fist. Behind him, Steve sat on his chair next to the head tasting table, his head in his hands. The temperature in the room was perfectly calibrated at a cool temperature, but he was sweating his ass off from nerves and frustration. If he hadn’t known Tony as well as he did, he would’ve been banging on the door alongside Bucky.

It had been three days since Steve and Bucky had hooked up. Since then, their interactions had been silent at best, _painfully_ awkward at worst. Sam had taken one look at him when Steve had shown up to work the next morning and pushed him into the kitchen.

“Explain, and you may have a bagel. But only if you explain,” he said, pointing at the bag from Olde Brooklyn Bagel Shoppe that sat on his counter. 

Steve sank into a chair, and rubbed his hand across his face. When he finally spat it out, 

Sam eyes narrowed in a frighteningly accurate imitation of their academic advisor in college. “Took you two long enough, that’s all I can say.” 

“What?” 

“ _You two are idiots!_ ” Sam roared, causing the sous chef, a young jumpy kid named Rusty, to nearly drop his colander. 

“What are you talking about?” Steve asked, although he kind of knew. Hell, he’d known since before any of this had happened. 

“You know this. We’ve all had bets going as to when you’d suck each others’ dicks!” 

“And you didn’t think to, I don’t know, _tell me!?_ ” Steve demanded.  

Sam folded his arms across his chest and just looked at him until Steve sighed and looked down into the table. “Fine. I would’ve been annoyed, right?” 

“Ding ding ding.” Sam re-tied his apron around his waist, while Steve studied the cuffs of his shirt.

“I mean...I’d be a liar if I said I hadn’t thought about it.”

“And…” Sam watched him carefully.

“And I’ve always thought he was handsome,” Steve confessed.

“And…"

“And I’ve always thought that if he weren’t such a huge dick, we’d actually get along really well -” 

“There we go,” Sam pronounced, shoving a piece of everything bagel into Steve’s mouth so he didn’t have to speak anymore.

 

* * *

 

But Steve and Bucky didn’t talk about it. They could barely even look at each other, for God’s sake.

So of course it took Tony.

Tony Stark didn’t come to the property every single day, but every few days he liked to come in and see how the business was running, and to basically insert himself into every possible piece of what was going on in the restaurant. The only person he didn’t bother was Peggy, if she was on shift; she gave him such holy hell for attempting to frost one of her cakes that Tony slunk out of her prep space like a puppy who’d just been hit on the nose with a rolled-up newspaper. 

Today, Tony came into the bar area. As he walked up the stairs from the cellar, Steve saw the CEO of Stark Restaurants talking animatedly with Bucky about selling drinks that required a blowtorch. Bucky was nodding and laughing along with Tony’s jokes, but when he caught sight of Steve coming into the dining room, his gaze immediately shut down. Tony stopped talking. “Hey, earth to Barnes. Hmm? I know we need a whole different license for some of the fire tricks, but I can get that worked on…” 

He followed Bucky’s eyes to see Steve, who probably looked the same, and his eyes narrowed. “Oh, you _didn’t_.”

Bucky made a noise Steve had never heard him make in the ten years he’d known the guy - it was a cross between a laugh and a terrified honk, like a goose getting chased out of a busy street. It would’ve made Steve snort if he weren’t on the verge of making the same sound. 

He cleared his throat. “What’s wrong, Tony?” 

Tony looked at both of them, and pointed to the stairwell Steve had just come from. “Both of you. Cellar. Now.”

Which is how Steve and Bucky found themselves locked in the Iron wine cellar by Tony Stark.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a moment of tense silence, Tony stepped back. “So stay in here and get yourselves sorted out. If you need condoms, I have literally forty of them. Don’t ask why,” he said when Steve opened his mouth.
> 
> \- in which everything comes out.

“I am not letting you go until you figure out your shit!” Tony bellowed from the other side of the door. “I can’t have two of my employees in each others’ butts if it’s fucking with productivity.”

Steve and Bucky both began to protest but the door suddenly slammed open, silencing them both. Tony stood with his arms folded, a pinched, annoyed-but-amused look on his face.

“Look,” he said, before taking a deep breath. “Am I going to stand here and lie to you that I haven’t had a bet going with Nat about when you two would end up doing the naked Lambada? No. Am I going to tell you that I am not happy with this development? No, because watching you two dance around each other was literally making me go grey, which is great for my professional persona, if hell on my self esteem. But I  _ am  _ going to tell you one thing.”

He put his hands on his hips, and Steve instantly felt like he was back in primary school getting lectured by his teacher. “You two are friends of mine,  _ great  _ friends of mine, but I love Iron more than both of you combined. I have absolutely  _ zero  _ hesitation in firing both of you if you can’t be professional while you’re working in my restaurant.”

He pointed to the room, then at the two of them. “So you two are going to sit in this room, for as long as it takes - I’m having Pierce cover for you at the bar, Buck.”

“Pierce is a fucking asshole, my customers hate him!” Bucky managed to squeak.

“Pierce isn’t humping my sommelier!” Tony snapped back, which shut Bucky up. Steve knew that the best possible option when Tony got into this kind of mood was to just keep silent. Besides, he knew Tony was right.

After a moment of tense silence, Tony stepped back. “So stay in here and get yourselves sorted out. If you need condoms, I have literally forty of them. Don’t ask why,” he said when Steve opened his mouth.

And with that, Tony closed the door and locked it, leaving Steve and Bucky staring at the floor, the wine bottles, literally everywhere in the room but at each other.

They stayed like that for about fifteen minutes, which stretched out for hours to Steve. He wanted to figure out a way to burrow a hole in one of the walls and escape through a manhole cover, like in a heist movie. He was deducing which bottles he could break without having a panic attack about it when he heard Bucky let out a small, weak laugh.

“Of all the ways I’d end up telling you the truth, I didn’t expect it to come in a goddamn wine cellar.”

Steve looked over at Bucky, who had wandered over to a second chair. An air of resignation was crossing over his face.

“Tell me the truth about…” he hedged, not daring to step closer.

Bucky put his head down on the table in front of him, and let out a groan of frustration. “Of all the people to have a crush on,  _ why  _ did it have to be on such an idiot?”

“What.” 

Steve could barely focus enough to make it into a proper question. His mind was fixed on a single point - the fact that Bucky had a crush on him. “You...you what.”

“I’ve had a crush on you since the second I met you, you moron,” Bucky murmured into his folded arms, still not lifting his head. “And I always thought you couldn’t stand me because every time I came in the room or tried to talk to you, you treated me like I was a jackass.”

“Because you  _ were  _ a jackass!” Steve yelped, standing up and going over to the table to sit across from Bucky, heart thudding in his chest. “I thought you were just being a dick.”

“I was  _ trying  _ to  _ flirt  _ with you, you  _ buffoon _ .” Bucky stood up, face bright red from either embarrassment or the urge to laugh.

“I’ve seen you flirt, Buck,” Steve tried again, feeling his entire body get very hot. “You’re great at it. Everyone knows it when you like someone.” It wasn’t a lie; Steve had seen him make people of all genders go weak at the knees. Wade had been angling to get him into a threesome with him and Vanessa for months.

“When it’s real, I can’t flirt for shit,” Bucky mumbled. 

Steve stood up, feeling like the perfectly calibrated air in his beloved wine cellar was going to strangle him. “Real…”

“I’ve liked you for so long,” Bucky started, voice breathless, like everything inside of him was busting out, like a unclogged faucet. “And you were just...you  _ are _ , you’re so smart and capable, and you know what you’re doing so much more than I do-”

“You’re the top mixologist in Brooklyn-”

“Shut up, Steve,” Bucky said, holding up a hand, “Shut up, or I’ll never get this out.”

For once in his life, Steve did what Bucky told him to do.

Bucky walked to the back of the cellar, shoulders up around his ears. Steve had never seen him this tense, ever. 

“When we were freshmen and you threatened to beat up that guy in our First Year Experience class for making fun of that girl in the hijab, I thought -  _ man, that’s the guy I’d want to be _ . And then, one time, I walked by your room on the way to visit a girl I was screwing around with, and I heard you laugh at something Sam said. And that was...man, that was it. I had never heard anything like it. It was everything good.” Bucky kept his back to Steve, like he couldn’t fully face what he was saying just yet, but his shoulders were slowly ungluing from his ears. “I knew I liked you. I knew none of my other tricks were going to work on you. You were too smart. I had no idea how to anything about it, it drove me nuts. So…”

“You decided to just make fun of me for ten years?” Steve asked, flabbergasted.

“I didn’t know how else to handle it!” Bucky said helplessly, finally turning around, and Steve took an entire step back at the raw feeling in Bucky’s face. He looked so vulnerable, Steve didn’t know whether to laugh or cry or hug him. “And it turned into you thinking I hated you, and I leaned into it, because getting you riled up...I don’t know why it made me so happy, but it did. I - I know that’s stupid, and I know I shouldn’t have done any of it. I just didn’t know how to talk to you.

“And I don’t know,” Bucky continued, ignoring Steve’s increasingly slack jaw, “I didn’t know how to talk to you, so I just...made fun of you. It’s so stupid. But I didn’t know how - and when I saw you doing that wine night, how smart and in your element you were...I couldn’t do it anymore. I couldn’t pretend that what I felt for you was just friendship or tease you anymore without thinking about what I didn’t have. And that made me angry.”

“So...you were angry because you liked me?” Steve managed to ask, his stomach in knots. 

Bucky blew out a long breath from his nostrils. “ _ Like _ you. And yes.”

Steve studied Bucky for a long time. All of the things he had thought about in a negative way when it came to Bucky, now seemed to be completely positive. His open, roguishly handsome face. The way he stuffed his thighs into skinny jeans. The little glint in his eyes, like he was looking for something. 

Now, to Steve’s newly opened mind, it looked like hope. 

“I’m so, so sorry. I want to - I almost want to start over and be friends with you,” Bucky said, sounding rushed. “Properly. And I understand if you never want to talk to me again -”

“Here’s what we’re going to do,” Steve interrupted. He took one step forward, carefully. Bucky stopped talking, and watched him with his hands uncomfortably placed on his hips. 

“We’re going to go out on a date. An actual, real date, where we are going to talk to each other like human beings.” Steve paused, reliving the tense, incredible hour they spent at Bucky’s apartment, the way Bucky touched him, the way Bucky’s eyes kept fluttering with something unreadable that Steve suddenly realized was all of Bucky’s emotions he was fighting so hard to keep locked down. Feelings, Steve knew, he himself had been fighting to lock up too.

Bucky blinked, and then smiled so big it made something bloom across Steve’s chest. “I would really like that,” he breathed. Steve smiled, too and the feeling near his sternum broke open into something so sweet he almost couldn’t believe it was real.

He stepped closer to Bucky. "I can't - I need to do something -"

"Not if I beat you to it," Bucky whispered with a roguish smile that instead of annoying Steve, made a thunderbolt streak through his body. He wasn't sure who went first, he or Bucky - all he knew was that one moment they were standing close to each other, and the next moment they were kissing, Bucky's hands cupping Steve's face, Steve's arms wrapped around Bucky's waist. 

Their last kisses had been so frantic and furious, Steve hadn't really gotten a chance to fully appreciate how damn good of a kisser Bucky was. Bucky kissed with his whole body, not just his mouth. Every move of his head, every stroke of his hands against Steve's cheeks, seemed flawlessly designed, constructed to make Steve shiver down to the tips of his toes. But Steve was no slouch, either. He slipped his hands up and down Bucky's back, stroking the broad, lean muscle under that white t-shirt. He didn't get a chance to see much of Bucky's body when they hooked up, and now, Steve wanted to see all of it. He wanted to take his damn time with him, make him fall apart and put him back together. 

It was a long before before either of them were pulled back to reality. Steve pressed his forehead against Bucky's and breathed in the smell of him. It was like sugar with a hint of lime. Steve could get used to that smell. It wasn't as complicated as the nose of a red, but it was still good. Still wonderful.

"As heartwarming as it is to know you two are kissing and making up, I have to ask that you don't fuck in the wine cellar," came a voice from behind the door.

"Shut up, Tony," Steve called. 

"I'm just saying, I'm gonna make you replace anything you splooge on."

"I'm not fucking anybody in here!" Steve could feel his face get red.

Bucky pulled away, eyes dancing. "Why not?"

"Why not?!" Steve motioned to the bottles of wine covering the walls, voice aghast. "I can't fuck or get fucked in here! It would be..."

"What, it would embarrass the wine?"

"It would damage the ambiance," Steve yelped, to which Bucky burst out laughing and then mumbled something under his breath.

"What was that?"

"I'll tell you when you're older, Rogers." Bucky kissed him on the cheek. "Now let me get back to work. Start planning that date."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think there might be two more chapters here? Not sure? 
> 
> My head canon is that the guy who made fun of the girl in the hijab was Victor von Doom, and the girl in the hijab is Kamala. Of course.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Happy endings abound.

 

They ended up meeting at the restaurant the next night, on both of their nights off. Steve thought it was too much of a coincidence that they got a free night together; he asked Tony about it, and Tony just blah-blah-blah’d until Steve got annoyed and walked away. But he thought he saw a little twinkle in Tony’s eye. Tony was good people, when he wasn’t being insufferable.

When he got to Iron Bucky was waiting for him at the bar, looking down at his phone. Steve had gotten used to Bucky looking irritatingly good in everything he wore, but tonight, with how things had shifted between them, Steve just took it in. Bucky looked gorgeous, in a white t-shirt, a black leather bomber jacket, and dark denim pants that hugged those thighs that Steve couldn’t stop thinking about. Steve suddenly felt like a total square in his checkered button-down with a blue v-neck sweater on top, with his dress pants. But that feeling melted when he saw the look on Bucky’s face when Bucky looked up from his phone and saw him. His eyes had an unshuttered, open quality that made Steve wonder if he was truly gazing into the guy’s soul.

“You look…” Bucky stopped, a took a deep breath. “You look really handsome.” 

“So do you,” Steve said shyly. He took a risk, and leaned in, kissing Bucky’s cheek, ignoring the fact that Sam was practically hanging out of the kitchen with a look on his face like he’d won the NY Lottery. “Did you want to get out of here?”

“Yes, because otherwise Sam is going to start taking paparazzi photos,” Bucky smirked.

“I am not!” Sam called, before slipping back into the kitchen.

 

* * *

 

They walked out of the restaurant and into an Uber; Bucky had been calling the car when Steve had gotten to Iron. When they got in, Bucky gave the driver an address on Court Street, then settled into the backseat next to Steve. 

So far, Steve felt pretty good. He’d been worried it would be awkward, and he told Bucky as much on the ride to wherever they were going.

“I did too, honestly,” Bucky said. “I’m not used to being around you without this...like…” he gestured at the space between them. “There’s always that friction, and I never knew how to get rid of it.”

“Could’ve started by talking to me,” Steve murmured, but he smiled to reassure Bucky he was just teasing. Bucky gently elbowed him in the rib.

 

* * *

 

When they got to the bar, Steve turned to Bucky with a big smile on his face. “This is a wine bar,” he said, barely able to contain his glee. “You took me to a wine bar. You took me to  _ June.” _ June was one of the highest ranked wine bars in the borough. Intimate, romantic, with a wine list that would bring any sommelier to their knees. Steve had been here multiple times.

“Well, I don’t  _ hate  _ wine, and they have liquors on the menu,” Bucky began to say, but it was too late. 

“You took me to a  _ wine bar  _ for our  _ first date _ after calling it  _ grape juice  _ and  _ fermented Kool-Aid  _ for  _ ten years,”  _ Steve  crowed. 

“Never mind, I don’t want to do this anymore.” But Bucky was grinning as he said it. He grabbed Steve’s hand; Steve instantly felt a  _ zing!  _ shoot down on his arm. 

 

* * *

 

“So, what’s New World wine?” Bucky was looking at the menu like it was written in Cyrillic. 

Steve took pity on him and flattened the placard between them. They were seated at one of the low tables next to the bar. Beautiful exposed lights twinkled all around them. Steve couldn’t get over how romantic it all was, and how  _ insane  _ it was that he was here with  _ Bucky.  _ “So, there’s Old World wine, and that’s the wine that’s grown in more traditional places like Europe and the Middle East. France, Spain, Italy -”

Bucky was nodding, so Steve moved on. “New World wine is wine from places like the United States, South America, New Zealand, Australia...places that aren’t as ‘established’ in winemaking. I’m using air quotes because that idea is kind of ridiculous, I mean, there’s tons of proof that Indigenous people were making wine-like drinks before we colonized and brought over the vines and Mission grapes, but people like to be really racist with their categories. It’s kind of why I specialized in New World wines when I went to sommelier school; I wanted to find out more about the newer places that deserve more attention for their vineyards.” 

He stopped, feeling himself blush. “I mean, I could go on and on, but you signed up for a date, not a wine class - Ooph!” 

Bucky was kissing him again, just a soft, momentary press of his lips on Steve’s, but when he pulled away, Steve felt dazed. “What was that for?” he murmured.

“I could honestly listen to you geek about wine for days,” Bucky whispered, before going in again. This time the kiss lasted just a little bit longer.

 

* * *

 

They talked for a good three hours, and quickly found they had a lot in common when they weren’t being dicks to each other. Steve had known Bucky had a sister, Rebecca, but hadn’t known she was also in the restaurant business. “She owns a coffee shop in Queens, actually,” Bucky said, eyes filling with obvious pride. “Brewed by Becca. It’s doing really well. I want to do some sort of crossover event with coffee liqueurs or something, something I can use her coffee in. But I gotta talk to Tony about it.”

“He’d love it,” Steve said sincerely. “You have so many amazing ideas, he loves you.”

Something in Bucky’s eyes flashed at that, but it went away and he laughed a little. “I’ll make sure to drop him a line.”

They were about three quarters of the way done with their bottle of a 2016 Australian syrah when Steve cleared his throat. “I just want to say I’m sorry. For...for how I acted with the whole thing with my mom-”

“Don’t,” Bucky said quietly. “It’s water under the bridge.”

“My turn to talk, Buck.”

Bucky fell silent.

“I just...I didn’t know who to tell, in the days after she passed. And I thought if I told you, and you came to the funeral, that it would...maybe it would dredge up all the feelings I had for you that I had been trying to say were hate.” Steve swirled his wine glass, watching the residue as the liquid moved. “I should’ve said something. And I’m really sorry I didn’t.”

Bucky was quiet for a little while before speaking. “I really liked your mom. She was a good person.”

“She was the best person,” Steve corrected him, a laugh in his voice to hide the tears.

“Well, I think  _ my  _ mom would have something to say about that.” But Bucky reached across the table and took his hand. He understood. It made Steve glow from the inside out.

 

* * *

 

They walked back to Bucky’s place at the Azure; it was a beautiful, late-fall evening, and it wasn’t too cold. The twenty-minute walk breezed by, with gentle teasing that was nothing at all like the previous jabs and pokes Steve and Bucky had lobbed at each other for the past decade. Bucky had yet to let go of Steve’s hand.

When they got to his building, Bucky turned to Steve. “Next time, I want to take you to a distillery.” He smiled big. “There are drinks that will make your entire world turn upside down, I promise.”

“I think you’ve already turned a lot of things on their ear tonight,” Steve smiled, before looking up at the Azure, suddenly feeling a little awkward. “So...do I leave you here, or…”

Bucky looked at Steve, grinning from ear to ear. He squeezed Steve’s hand. “Get over here, Stevie.”

 

That night, after round three, when they laid still sticky and wrapped up in each other, Steve looked up from his position on Bucky’s chest. “What did you mumble to yourself when we were walking out of the wine cellar?”

Bucky, who was still a bit red from their exertions, pinked up a little more. “Well, you were talking about how you didn’t want to have sex in the wine cellar, which I thought was so silly but so you -”

“You’ll note that I’m perfectly okay with having sex in a bed, on the floor, on a couch-”

“Shut up, Rogers.” Bucky gave Steve’s ass a playful slap, and then pushed his sweaty hair out of his face. “So when I heard that, I said…” He tightened his mouth, looking nervous all of a sudden. 

“Come on,” Steve said, cuddling closer to him.

“I said, ‘I’m in love with an idiot,’” Bucky said, his voice so quiet Steve almost didn’t catch what he said. 

But he did catch it.

“You...you…”

“Yeah. And you don’t have to say it back. But I do.” Bucky kept his eyes fixed on the ceiling, until Steve got up on his elbows and leaned over him, interrupting his gaze.

“If you’ve learn one thing about me, Barnes, it’s that I don’t like being told what to do. Especially if I’m about to say I think I’m in love with you, too.”

Bucky lit up like a goddamn Christmas tree, and pulled Steve in for a kiss that was more than just a kiss. It was a promise.

 

* * *

 

Three years later, at their wedding, Steve and Bucky had a sommelier and a full cocktail bar.

They will neither confirm nor deny that they have fucked in Iron’s wine cellar.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> June is a real bar in Cobble Hill, and it's got GREAT wine! I went there with @stephrc79 and it was divine.
> 
> IT IS DONE. Thank you to the Reverse Big Bang for being so patient as I've been dealing with a bad cold, and thanks to my awesome collaborator Mific for their great art!!!

**Author's Note:**

> Le Boudoir is a real place, and it is awesome. And yes, that is their wifi password.


End file.
